


A foundation for control

by Unholy_Dionysus



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Makeup, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26093632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unholy_Dionysus/pseuds/Unholy_Dionysus
Summary: It had started with his Aunt’s lipstick. She had never left the house without wearing it. Soon whenever she left the house, Hannibal would wear it, staring at himself in the mirror until the sound of her return.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	A foundation for control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ineffable_Hannigram](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffable_Hannigram/gifts).



> @Ineffable_Hannigram was looking for some Hannibal makeup fics, so I felt the need to fulfill that want.

The taste of lipstick had grown on Hannibal. He delighted in the smooth and controlled application, straight from the bullet to his mouth. Most days it was a subtle and nude mate, something that didn’t draw the attention of his clients, a light application of Tom Ford’s “First time”. Though, the lipstick that had first met his face was years ago.

It had started with his Aunt’s lipstick. She had never left the house without wearing it. Soon whenever she left the house, Hannibal would wear it, staring at himself in the mirror until the sound of her return.

Today it was a color similar to hers. A thick coat of velvet cherry to match the deep crème blush that tinted his cheekbones. It was on rare occasion that he was allowed to make such bold choices in his beauty routine.

Being an eccentric European among the American upper-class did allow him the benefit of a brush of rouge or a dark lip-liner at the opera or during a Dinner. However, Hannibal was one for luxury, for indulgence to it’s fullest.

So when allowed, he pressed colors into his skin and gloss onto his lips. He would never call himself flamboyant, flamboyancy implied gauche, and one would never refer to Hannibal as tacky. A light BB cream on the face, to smooth out the most notable blemishes, but still allow you to see the artistry of his face, the subtle lines of age that only brought him grace. The dark lipstick drawing attention to pearly white and hauntingly sharp teeth. Blush that brought color to his face, so that you might not forget that what you were looking at was indeed human, despite it’s inhuman beauty.

  
  


Will’s eyes went wide when he stepped into Hannibal's office. He hadn’t expected the man to be there. His feet had led him towards the office, only out of habit. He had lost time again, of course he had, only to realize he was outside of the building at 2am.

He felt halfway between a dream and reality when he pushed through the door, shocked when it opened. The shock that followed when he made it to the office was greater. Not only did this door open, but Hannibal was seated at his desk, looking into a circular mirror, admiring himself – as though he were Narcissus and he could not pull himself from his own reflection.

There was a moment of stillness before Hannibal looked up, seemingly nonchalant, despite Will’s interruption.

“Will, it’s late,” Hannibal set the mirror down, next to the straight line of cosmetics, “are you alright?”.

“I lost time again.” Will said with a caugh.

“Are you talking to my desk or to me, Will?”

The profiler lifted his gaze to meet Hannibal’s face, hauntingly pretty. His mouth poutier then usual, the cupid’s bow defined to a sharp point – Will thought that if he marched over to the other man and kissed him, he might cut himself on Hannibal’s lips. A thought usually left for the man’s cheekbones, which were flushed with a burgundy that matched the wine on the side table.

“You’re wearing makeup,” Will wondered when he became so stupid, only to conclude that it had happened when he first looked at Hannibal's face. What now felt like a decade ago, in Jack’s Office. The face staring at him now was undeniably the same face as then, but elevated with art, like all things that belonged to Hannibal.

Hannibal stood with grace and walked towards Will, like a predator might walk towards it’s pray. Will had long stopped backing away from Hannibal when he pressed him into corners, something told him that showing fear would only urge the other forward more.

The doctor took his chin in hand and for a horrifying and thrilling second, will thought he might learn whether or not that cupid’s bow could cut. Instead Hannibal shifted Will’s head to the side and then down, seemingly checking his eyes.

“You seem to be the current moment,” Hannibal smiled, flashing his teeth at – will knew those could and would cut, if given the chance.

“My name is Will Graham, it’s,” a glance down to his watch, “2:16am and I am in Baltimore,”.

Hannibal made his way back to his desk, electing to uncharacteristically sit on top of it, he gestured towards the chair in front of him. Will slid around to the desk and sat confused in the chair.

“We should do a practice to help you focus on the current moment,”

“Didn’t I just do one?”

“I was thinking something more hands on, actually. To keep you grounded here as you do seem slightly distant, Will,”.

Will wasn’t sure how it would go over, if he explained that he was only distant, because he couldn’t stop thinking about smearing the other mans makeup with kisses and saliva and sweat and other far more indecent things.

That the sight of Hannibal in makeup was to much. The man already were his three piece suits and thousand dollar shoes. The sight of him had always begged for Will to make him unkempt, to make a mess of Hannibal, and now he had yet another layer that pleaded to will, “ruin me,”.

Will shuddered at the though of mascara running down his therapists face, lipstick smeared across his teeth, gagging on Will’s fingers. Will painting his face with cum. The only thing that could make that face any prettier.

“Why don’t you help me with my makeup, Will,” It wasn’t a question that brought him back from his debauched thoughts, but he answered anyways with a nod.

“I don’t know how, I’ve never even watched someone put on makeup before,”.

“Not even your mother?” Questioned Hannibal as wiped his face clean with a wet cloth, he had presumably conjured from thin air.

“I never met my mother,” Will hoped that this wasn’t leading into anything Freudian.

“Hmm,” was the only reply he received before he was staring at a once again bare faced Hannibal Lector that was still alarmingly beautiful.

“Did you watch your mother, with her make up?”

“We’ll start with the foundation,” Hannibal explained, not bothering to answer the question. It only made Will want to throttle him, to pin him to the desk and make him spill out all his secrets, like Will had poured out his own.

Hannibal tapped out a soft liquid onto the back of Will’s hand, “Some people prefer to apply foundation with a brush or sponge. I personally find that a more hands on approach is better suited to my skin, however. You’ll want to take your ring finger and dip it into the crème, which then should be applied lightly to my face,”.

Will nodded numbly, as he realized he was about to have his hands all across this man’s face. That he would be in some sense, sculpting him, creating art on a beautiful canvas. With it came the terror of mistake and the intimate power over getting to shape Hannibal Lector.

His skin was soft under Will’s fingers, delicate even, like if he pressed to hard he might tear it like paper. It took all his control to not press down and pull the skin taunt. The formula clung to Hannibal's dusting of five-o'clock shadow. Uncertain of how to pressed the foundation under the facial hair, he stilled.

“Harder, there,” Hannibal whispered and Will thought he might have swallowed his own tongue, if it had not felt so heavy.

Hannibal grabbed Wills hand and pressed his palm under his chin, “To get the foundation in, you need to apply a more broad and stronger pressure. It’s easiest with the palm of you hand,”.

By the time the crème was fully applied, Will was undeniably aroused.

“I think we’ll just add some lip product now,” Hannibal’s gaze reaped up and down Will’s body. There was no hiding how it had affected him.

Will took the initiative to pick up the tube of lipstick, rising out of the chair and leaning over Hannibal’s body. Like something had finally snapped in him, begged him to take control, he grasped Hannibal's chin with one hand and pointed his face upward.

Hannibal’s breath quickened and his lips along with his legs parted for Will. Will, who was staring at him like he was the prey. The cannibal wondered just when there roles had reversed and whether or not he had been the one to swap their parts.

The bullet of the lipstick pressed gently onto the center of his bottom lip and for a second, it just sat their, as saliva pooled at the bottom of his mouth. Then, it smeared across his lip, thicker than Hannibal would apply it, wastefully. Then the bullet was being pulled away and Will’s thumb replaced it, running it across Hannibal's quivering bottom lip, moving the product to the top, spreading it unevenly, covering the cupid’s bow to make a rounder softer shape.


End file.
